


with your faithful companion by your side

by salvabon



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Trans Fox Mulder, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvabon/pseuds/salvabon
Summary: Mulder has been behaving weird the last couple of days and now he isn't at work and Skinner won't tell her why, so of course Dana Scully is fearing the worst.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Trans Mulder Literary Universe





	with your faithful companion by your side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlannelGuy51](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlannelGuy51/gifts).



> Happy Birthday dude!!!!!!!! I love you so much bro I hope you like this!! 
> 
> For everyone else: this is compliant with the other Trans Mulder fics and is set somewhere between One Breath and Colony. The title is once again based on a mountains goats song, this time "Corsican Mastiff Stride".

Something was off in the little basement office that Dana Scully had grown so used to during the last year: Mulder wasn’t there. She herself had run a couple minutes late that day; her superintendent had stopped her on the way out to talk about some problem with the water. By the time she had managed to shake herself free from the conversation, there was already no way she would arrive on time. And then the morning traffic, of course. She knew that Mulder would make a stupid little joke, he would probably be leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table in that smug way that made Scully mad but that she couldn’t help herself and forgive every time. He would then smile and turn on the projector, maybe fling a file at her, and start the day with one of his trademark slide shows. Mulder liked his slide shows just as much as Scully’s aunt had liked them, except Mulder’s slides were of crime scenes instead of holiday scenery. And she would roll her eyes at his theories, but in a playful way, because there was no way he actually believed half of that stuff, and then they’d drive out to Backwater, Some State, together anyway. But when Scully had entered their office with an apology already on her lips it fell on deaf ears because Mulder simply was nowhere to be found.  
“Mulder?” Scully called out, just to be sure that he wasn’t lurking behind some corner, even though she already knew that wasn’t the case. Mulder’s desk was untouched since yesterday. A thin layer of dust was already starting to settle on it, something not unusual in the FBI basement. If Mulder had been there, surely there would be a cup of coffee, half a dozen new files and a freshly opened bag of sunflowers seeds. Yet, it looked just like when they left the office yesterday, meticulously cleaned of all clutter. Scully had found it weird that he had chosen exactly that moment to clean up, minutes before punching out, but she had just assumed he had finally started a new habit. She wasn’t all too sure what it meant but if working with Mulder had taught her one thing it was to assume a connection between these two curious events.   
Now that she was thinking about it, Mulder had been a bit more antsy these last couple days, although she hadn’t been able to tell precisely what was going on. She had asked him if everything was okay, and he had given her the whole spiel about how he was fine, he just hadn’t slept much, he was just excited about the case and so forth. Since working together she had learned to read Mulder quite well, even better since he had come out to her. Now she could usually tell he was dysphoric even before he could. All the warning signs had been there in the last couple of days: the deflection, differences in the way he moved and carried himself, from crossing his arms to his posture shrinking when walking the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, and his habit to wear a large worn out Oxford University hoodie in the office. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, so Scully had tried to subtly do her bit. She had sweet-talked him a little, backed him up, and she had kept her eye rolling to a minimum when he talked about mothmen and other assorted cryptids. During times when she thought he needed it she had reminded him to not wear his binder too long, to which he had always just given her a polite smile or chuckle.   
After checking her watch, and then doing it again, and realizing that it was really uncommon for Mulder to arrive that late, she walked over to the telephone on his desk and dialled his number. The answering machine was the only thing that picked up, spewing the same old pre-recorded message that didn’t do much to alleviate her anxiety. What could possibly keep Fox Mulder from work? From the chance to infodump to his colleague about yet another paranormal incident that they would end up not proving or disproving either way? The oddness of this situation had turned into a worry that was slowly gnawing at her, burrowing into her very heart. Was something wrong? Had something happened?   
Mulder had, as they already knew, powerful enemies, and no impulse control and a reckless abandon of any self-care. There were a million scenarios running through her head, from Mulder getting sick, to having gotten into trouble, to things unspeakable and unquestionably worse and permeated by the smell of Morley cigarettes.   
Scully stormed out of their office, leaving the door wide open and promptly running into Assistant Director Skinner.  
“Agent Scully,” her superior greeted her half amused as she just nearly avoided bumping into the much taller man.   
“AD Skinner, I have to speak to you-” “I was just on the way to your office myself, Agent Scully.”  
He pointed in the direction of her office, prompting her to turn around and walk back where she had just come from. Skinner followed her, visibly unbothered by Scully’s anxious demeanour.   
“Agent Mulder-” Scully started anew as they both had reached the office and her boss had closed the door behind him. Once again she was interrupted:   
“Agent Mulder is not going to be in the office for the next couple of weeks. We are going to put you on desk duty in the meantime. I hope you understand this decision, but there are no free agents available for this department at the moment and after the _recent events_ ,” Skinner hesitated for a second, “we thought it would be best to not give you field work without a partner to back you up.”   
Scully put her hands on her hips and straightened up, which did little to even the height between the two agents: “What is with Mulder? Is he okay?”   
Skinner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.   
“Agent Mulder is _fine_ -” “If I find out you are lying to me, Skinner, and I am saying that with the utmost respect, I will _end_ you, I will-” “Agent Scully, please keep your temper, may I remind you, with the _utmost respect_ , that you are talking to your direct superior. And when I tell you that Agent Mulder is fine, then he is _fine_.”  
Scully stepped closer, her arms crossed now, chin turned upwards, a fiery gleam in her eyes: “Where is Mulder?”  
Skinner spread his arms in defense, frustration rising in his body almost visibly, like radiating heat.   
“I cannot tell you, okay? He told me not to.”   
Scully felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. The tension in her body was briefly blown away as a million new scenarios made home in her brain. Was he undercover? Had something happened to him?   
She stepped back again to lean against Mulder’s desk for support, just about mindful enough to see the irony in that. What was there that he couldn’t trust her with?   
“Now, Agent Scully,” Skinner began, trailing off as he searched for words. “I understand you are worried. After everything that happened-” Skinner obviously wasn’t comfortable talking about the abduction, “the thought of working without your partner is surely not pleasant, but I can promise you that it will be fine, that Mulder is fine.”   
“Can you?” Scully asked, surprised by the sting in her voice.   
“Can you really promise it? Tell me, Skinner, does it have to do with that man, that smoker? Is that why Mulder isn’t here? Is he on one of his little vendettas again? Because if so, I want to know. I want to help take down that son of a bitch as much as he does. But we both know that Mulder can’t do this without me.”   
Skinner lowered his head, sighing again. Scully used the opportunity to wipe her face with her sleeve. She didn’t want Skinner to know how close she was to crying.   
“Mulder is in the hospital.”   
The words hit like recoil, vibrating into her very bones. She was glad she had been leaning against the desk, because otherwise she surely would have collapsed. She had known it, from the second she had stepped into the empty office; she had known something was wrong.   
“He- Is he-,” Scully didn’t bring out any more than these half-hearted sentence starters before choking on her tears. She didn’t even notice Skinner approaching her, holding her by the shoulders.  
“Hey, hey,” he said, in a gentle but stern voice. “When I said he was fine, I meant it.”   
Scully looked up, a slightly blurred visage looking down on her.   
“Agent Scully, there is no reason to worry. Look, my next meeting isn’t until 2pm, and we are still waiting for your desk assignments. Now that the cat is out of the bag, why don’t I drive you to the hospital and prove it to you myself. I have already broken the promise not to tell you.”   
With a pat on the shoulder Skinner helped Scully steady herself and escorted her through the hallways of the FBI headquarter into the car park. They didn’t talk on the way to Skinner’s car, nor on the short drive. Skinner had made it clear that he could not give more answers, that the rest had to come from Mulder, or whoever else Scully could talk to at the George Washington University Hospital. The ride was short, a mere 10 minutes, and Constitution Avenue had been emptier than usual.   
As much as she wanted to believe Skinner’s assertion that everything was going to be okay, she braced herself for the worst when she stepped up to the reception and asked for Fox Mulder. Her past couple of months had shown her that it was best to keep your guard up, to hope for the best and expect the worst.  
Scully flashed her badge: “I’m a medical doctor.”   
The attending nurse nodded at her FBI badge and smiled: “You’re coming at the right time, Mr Mulder has been out of surgery for a while and should wake up any minute now. He is in Room 212, that way”   
Scully followed the signs along the direction where the friendly nurse had pointed, while Skinner gave her an encouraging nod and stayed behind. Surgery? The nurse hadn’t given her any more information than ‘surgery’ and as much as her words had been an indication that everything was truly okay, she could not help but worry. Worry had become a second nature to her, a companion almost as loyal as Mulder.   
As she stood before Room 212, hand already gripping firmly the cold metal handle, she hesitated ever so slightly before turning it. With slow, steady breaths she opened the door, careful as to not make too much noise.   
Mulder was laying in a hospital bed, rigged to the usual machinery. She should be used to seeing people like that, but it was different when it was Mulder. She knew how an ECG monitor worked, but when every line, every potential abnormality was not just any heart but Mulder’s? A quick glance told her that everything seemed normal for someone recovering from invasive surgery, the same with all other equipment as far as a quick glance could tell. Almost out of reflex she checked the clipboard at the end of his bed, doing anything to not look at Mulder unconscious like that before she understood the reason.   
“Fox William Mulder, 13.10.1961,” she mouthed along as her eyes flew over the patient sheet. There, finally, in between the various uninteresting data a number of medical terms told her what Mulder had been there for: Top Surgery.   
The realization was pure relief. All tension vanished from her body. once more giving way to tears, as she lowered herself into one of the bedside chairs. Scully conjured up an unused tissue from her pocket and wiped away her tears. A low moan distracted her from the action, as her partner in his hospital bed slowly stirred. With intense focus Scully saw the changes on the instruments as the man in front of her woke up slowly, opening his eyes one at a time under great strain.   
“Scully?” He said in a hoarse, wobbly, voice.   
“You’re here,” he added, voice breaking as both choked back tears. Mulder stretched out an arm towards her, poorly coordinated and making him wince instantly.   
“Don’t move, you’re just waking up from surgery,” Scully explained, knowing all to well the effects of anaesthetics on the human brain.   
“Surgery shmurgery,” Mulder said, blowing a raspberry in the direction of the ceiling before turning to face her.   
“You’re here?” He repeated and Scully wasn’t sure if he had forgotten he had already asked that or if he simply wanted an answer.   
“I am here, Mulder.”   
“I didn’t think you’d come,” her partner whined and Scully had no choice but laugh.   
“You didn’t make it too easy for me, Mulder. Not telling me? Telling Skinner to keep it a secret from me?”   
Mulder nodded solemnly: “Wassa ssssecret.” Scully shook her head with a smile and rocked her chair closer to her partner. She grabbed his hand without really thinking about it, a kind of primal instinct that told her to touch him, comfort him, feel the warmth of their entwined fingers. “But why, Mulder? Why didn’t you trust me with this?”   
Mulder looked almost sober for a second before saying:” I trust you, Scully. I always trust you. I didn’t want you to worry.”  
Scully sighed: “And you thought if you just vanished for weeks that wouldn’t worry me even more?”   
Mulder pouted, thinking hard about that one. Scully could almost see the synapses straining to connect in his mind. He gesticulated vaguely.  
“I didn’t want to worry _you_ ,” he repeated, as if the emphasis suddenly made her understand it.   
“Hospitals….,” He started and trailed off. “I saw you in the hospital, Scully, I didn’t want you to see me, think about the hospital, the abduction.”  
He smiled weakly, and she smiled back, understanding his logic now, even if she recognized its flaws. But wasn’t that always the case in their relationship?   
“That was pretty stupid of you, Mulder,” Scully said. She could still feel the presence of tears by the blurriness of her vision and the stinging sensation behind the bridge of her nose, but no warm tears ran down her cheeks, and her lip had nearly stopped wobbling. Mulder nodded and then trailed off again visibly, still fighting the effects of the anaesthetic.  
“Why am I here, Scully?”   
“You had top surgery, Mulder.”  
“Oh,” Mulder said, then frowned. “I’m a top now? They made me a _top_?” There was genuine concern and confusion in his voice and Scully couldn’t help but chuckle.   
“Oh boy, I will explain this to you a little later.”   
This got a tired, understanding nod from Mulder. Scully smiled at him, an open, honest smile, all teeth and relief, and pressed her hand into his even harder. The man in front of her seemed to wake up a little more with every second, but the anaesthetic clung to him like wet sand. But underneath the tiredness, and confusion, and slurred, slow speech there was a lightness he had never known from Mulder before. And Scully knew that there had been indeed a great burden lifted from him. And she understood now that this must have been the reason for his nervous behaviour and heightened dysphoria in the past days, maybe weeks. Mulder had not wanted to let on how nervous he was about the surgery, and how excited, because he wanted to shield her from the potentially bad memories she had of hospitals. Of course, she could think of more pleasant places to be at any given moment, but she also preferred any hospital with Mulder to any office without him.   
At that moment it knocked on the door, and Skinner stepped in with a small bouquet and the apologetic look of a kicked puppy.   
“Agents,” he nodded, and put down the flowers into a little vase on the windowsill. Three familiar faces followed him in.   
“I picked up these three clowns in the waiting room,” Skinner pointed to the Lone Gunmen.   
“Walt, Guys,” Mulder said, a shaky sentimental tone in his voice. Skinner rolled his eyes at the mention of his first name, the shortened version even, but didn’t say anything.   
“Nice to see you awake again, G-man,” Frohike said and gave Mulder a friendly pat on the shoulder.   
“Yeah, Mulder, we were waiting for hours. Really took your time, or did Scully have to kiss you awake?” Langly quipped and winked at Scully, who tried her best not to blush at the thought.   
“As we promised earlier, we’re here to help you with anything you need,” Byers added last, getting out of his suit pocket a tiny Trans flag, that he carefully placed on the bedside table.   
It didn’t take long for Mulder to tear up again. It took much convincing from everyone that he didn’t jump up to hug every single one of them.   
“That was your plan, Mulder, make Skinner promise not to tell me about it and then have the Gunmen take care of you for the next weeks?”  
Mulder shrugged, which resulted in him wincing again and looking down at his body with confusion, certainly having forgotten again why he was there.  
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Byers justified.   
“Also, knowing our mutual friend he will probably start playing basketball again by tomorrow and be in the office by Monday,” Frohike added.   
Mulder made no attempts to deny or agree with the statement and simply looked around the room with big eyes, tearing up.   
“You’re all here,” he choked out, then composed himself: “Did you know they made me a top now?”   
The room broke out in laughter, even the usually stoic Skinner being caught off guard and breaking out in a rare belly laugh.   
“He is never going to live that one down” “No he won’t, we’ll make sure of it.” “Too bad he won’t remember most of this later. Hey, Mulder,” the FBI agent looked over to his friend. “Mothman is also in the waiting room.”   
Scully held back laughter behind her hand as her partner’s eyes grew wide: “Really?”   
Byers shook his head: “Now Langly, that is truly mean.” “What? Can’t we have a little fun? We just sat in a hospital waiting room for four hours.”   
Skinner just shook his head and turned to Scully: “Take good care of him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”  
Scully smiled: “I will do my best, Sir. And thank you, for breaking that promise for me. I shouldn’t have reacted that way earlier, I am truly sorry.” Her boss just waved it away and turned around. “I will allow you the rest of the day off. I better get back to the office. If anything happens, you know my number.”   
With that, her boss walked out, leaving Scully alone with her recovering partner and his three friends.   
“We should also give Mulder some more rest, guys,” Scully said and got up. “And you three look like you need some as well.”   
Mulder, highly focused on the conversation in front of him but slowly drifting off, only answered in soft murmurs.   
“And obviously as a medical doctor I should oversee his recovery process.”   
The three nodded solemnly. Frohike was the first to say something: “Agent Scully, we don’t mind also helping out, while you’re at work for example. We can do our work from Mulder’s apartment just as well as from our place.”   
Scully nodded, she was slowly warming up to the three. “First, you’re all getting some rest, then we’re talking about the details. Now off with you three.”   
“Yes Agent Scully,” the three answered in a mocking sing-song as they saw off Mulder, now firmly asleep again.   
Scully stayed a little longer, monitoring Mulder’s vitals as his tightly bandaged chest rose and fell. He looked peaceful, as peaceful as Scully could imagine him.


End file.
